Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 111980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
I rise, round the island, and move behind him, catching a whiff of the peppery scent of the omelet, then the soapy, citrusy cedar scent of him. He’s cooking, so I don’t want to disturb him too much. I press a kiss to the back of his neck and whisper, “Because you look hot in the kitchen.”
Briefly, he leans his head against me, sighing softly, indulging in my touch for a second or two. Then he says, “It’s the mangoes, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
And that’s the truth. The man bought mangoes for me because I love them. Because he listened to one random comment about the fruit. Because he planned for last night before it even happened, and that thought makes me feel…bubbly. But I don’t want to get too caught up in the good feelings or to mistake them for something neither one of us is ready for. I want to make sure I’m clear on the rules. “You’re going to drive me back to my house, and we’ll go to work in separate cars, right?”
He turns around and meets my gaze. There’s no apology in his eyes. Just certainty, a man who’s weighed the situation. “I think that’s for the best, don’t you?”
He says it like the boss, the manager, the man who knows how to navigate any situation. And while it’s not against any sort of rule at our shared workspace to date—or to bang—a co-worker, I have my reasons for not wanting to get tangled up in something. He does too. His reputation. His appearance. The way people see him as a professional. That’s important to him, and I want to honor that.
“I agree,” I say with a crisp nod. “But there is one thing I want.”
He rolls his eyes as he plates the eggs. “You and your blackmail.”
“I think you’ll like it.”
“Hit me.”
I take a deep breath. “I want to put your rose tattoo on you tonight.”
His smile is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. It’s boyish. Surprised. Like I’ve touched some part of him simply from wanting to help apply the temporary tattoo that helps transform him into Sam Silversmith. Last week’s has already faded. “Come over beforehand and you can. I need an hour for the color to set in.”
I shimmy my shoulders. “I’m going to help the rock star get ready tonight,” I say, or really, I sing it.
He rolls his eyes and sets the plate down. “Eat, woman.”
I grab my fork, but I don’t tuck in yet. “Did you know you’re a cuddle monster?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Please. You wrap me up like I’m the insides of a burrito.”
He snorts out a laugh. “And I’m the tortilla?”
I nod. “Yup.”
He shakes his head in disbelief but then winks. “And you love it.”
“You love it,” I toss back.
He blows me a kiss that says yes as he makes himself some avocado toast to go with his eggs.
At last, I dig in, moaning around the forkful. When I’m done, I say, “I was right. You can cook.”
“I can cook, and I can…eat.”
“I know, Sawyer. Trust me, I know,” I say, before taking another forkful. It’s delicious. Especially the mango.
When we’re both finished, he says, “I’m claiming dessert rights.”
“Wait. How does that work? You just claim them?”
“Like this,” he says, then moves around the island, scoops me off the stool, and carries me to the living room. He sets me down on the couch and has me for his second breakfast.
“Mmm. You can have dessert rights anytime,” I say.
His smile is wolfish. “Good answer.”
* * *
After breakfast and a fast shower, I help clean up in the kitchen, then hop into Sawyer’s car. He gives my dog a pat on the head. Their friendship makes my heart twist. “I think you like me for my dog,” I say when Sawyer slides into the driver’s seat.
I meant it as a joke, but as I replay it…I think it came out more cutting than I’d intended.
Sawyer narrows his eyes. “Seriously?”
I gulp. “No, but, well…you seem to like him.”
He takes a beat as he pulls out and heads down the road. “And this is a problem?”
I wince. Shit. I’m an idiot. This is a good thing empirically. I’m just taking it the wrong way because I’ve been burned. “Sorry. It’s not you. It is a good thing. August was never that good with Captain, and I know it’s good you like him. I think I just got…”
I don’t want to say it—wary. That’s too much to share. But then, I flash back to the first night we spent together when we aired all our dirty laundry. Sawyer has to already know. “I have trust issues,” I say with a forced smile as I try to make light of his comment.
He reaches a hand across and sets it on my thigh. “Me too. I get it, Chloe. Sometimes they make you second-guess everything.”